


colored rain

by frankie_31



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mosaic-timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13929546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_31/pseuds/frankie_31
Summary: Quentin leaves the record book of all the mosaic patterns they’ve done so far out in the rain.





	colored rain

**Author's Note:**

> Idea credit goes to tumblr user lazarus-james.

It’s been a chilly, wet season this year. Lots of rain, very little clear days. Quentin’s just finished stoking the fire, he crosses their little cabin floor to snuggle back into bed with Eliot and Rupert. 

“I love the rain,” Eliot says softly, his voice gentle as he runs his hand over Rupert’s hair. “Even when it gets in the way of the mosaic. It’s like an enforced vacation.”

Quentin smiles at him over Rupert’s head and glances out the window. The rain is pattering on the roof, and outside he can see it splashing on the tiles of the mosaic. He’s enjoying the view when he spots a small black rectangle. 

The records book. 

He’s up and out of the bed before his brain can catch up to his feet. He barrels out the door out onto the mosaic. They’d used a type of soft mineral to draw, not unlike chalk, and the rain has created a small, colorful puddle around the book. He crouches over it, hands in his hair and tears sting his eyes.  


Another mistake. A monumental set back caused by the worst idiot in Fillory. Or Earth. The failure of the failed mosaic-creations and this final fuck-up pushes him over the edge, and he’s on the verge of a panic attack. He falls on his knees and tries to regulate his breathing. It’s beginning to come out in harsh stutters and he wraps his arms around his chest. He can’t even feel the rain anymore but he hears the front door open again. 

He hears the shifting of clay tiles as Eliot walks over to him and calls over the rain, “What are you doing?”

“I-I-the…the b-b-ook,” Quentin tries to tell him but his throat burns and he falls silent. 

“Is that–,” Eliot starts and then Quentin sees his bare feet come into view. “That’s the book. Quentin, how could you be so fucking careless?”

Quentin is helpless to defend himself even if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. Eliot picks up the sopping book and opens it. More dyed water dribbles out and he drops it with a noise of disgust. 

“Some of us want to go home eventually,” Eliot says and he turns his back to Quentin. Quentin darts a look up and Eliot has pulled his robe tight around his body. His hair is curling in the rain. “Some of us left a kingdom behind. I know this is the Fillory of your dreams but it’s not my Fillory.”

Quentin has spiralled fully into a panic attack, on his hands in knees trying desperately to suck in air and failing. He’s lost in the attack when strong arms haul him to his feet. 

Eliot’s pressed against his back, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other centered on Quentin’s sternum. He’s saying something in Quentin’s ear over and over and pushing on his chest at the same time. 

“…out. In and out. In and out,” he’s saying and Quentin tries really fucking hard. Eventually, he’s breathing in time with Eliot’s words and hand and he waits for his pulse to slow. He’s exhausted after and his back muscles ache from the staccato gasps of the panic attack. 

He slowly comes back to the rain and it’s a storm now. Wind is whipping the trees and the raindrops are so fast and big they almost sting. Eliot is still holding him, head tucked into the crook of Quentin’s neck. 

“You okay, Q?”

He doesn’t speak yet but he nods and slumps into Eliot’s arms. He turns, wraps himself up in Eliot. Eliot is pressing soft kisses on his forehead and Quentin turns his face up to him. 

They kiss, slow and meaningfully, in the rain. Eventually, it deepens and their mouths are the only warm places in a cold world. 

“I’m sorry,” Quentin says after some time. The rain has let up a little and he rests his head against Eliot’s chest. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Eliot says and pulls Quentin in tighter. “Enforced vacation. I get more time with you and Rupert. It’s not a bad thing.”

They kiss again, Eliot slings an arm around Quentin’s shoulders and they head back into their home. 


End file.
